


Dormant, Young Volcanoes

by DaintyDuck_99



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, Explicit Language, Extremely Dark, Gen, Zombie!Robbie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5973796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaintyDuck_99/pseuds/DaintyDuck_99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Weirdmaggedon, one Robbie Stacy Valentino sends a big 'fuck you' to our favorite bastard triangle. His dreams take a turn for the worse when Bill doesn't get what he wants, and it's kind of stupid or ironic, but his parents, the cheerful undertakers, don't seem to notice that he's dead-- or maybe they just don't give a rat's ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dormant, Young Volcanoes

A dead end. Police tape, putrid yellow barbed wire. Armageddon-- chaos bleeding with the reedy sounds of broken class and screaming hoards, and a blood red sinking sky, the falling corpse of a king. Abandoned buildings and three legged tables. Charred bones, toothless combs, empty crosswalks, descimated homes. 

Every night, the amalgamation of horror continues, and you just want it to end, like the time when you were nine and Dumbo came on while your mother was sleeping, trumpeting his square bubbles. The pink elephants came out of nowhere and it only got worse. The music became a feverish cry for the devil and you felt so helpless and vulnerable, trapped on the couch beneath your mother's legs. The gruesome thing with many heads was coming right for you, about to devour you, when suddenly, the screen trembled and wavered back to black. In the midst of squirming panic, apparently your ass-cheeks found the remote.

It's different when the monsters climb into the blue inferno of your dreams. They promised you a cascade of redheads and gigs and fast food, the road trip escape you always wanted, but it was too good to be true. You know this from the millions of prim, pretty corpses your parents have buried, in the cemetery and in your subconscious. You fought to evict the asshole triangle then, but his cruel threats sawed a death warrant for everyone you cared about-- Tambry, Wendy, the guys, even your parents and the twins--and in the end, you agreed to initiate the apocalypse. Not in his words, but the bitter truth of them, it's already a part of you, the shitty rotten cornerstone that's keeping you upright. And no one takes you seriously, except perhaps for Tambry. You've fought for every inch of sanity since and you'll be damned if the triangle seals the deal. This is not what you signed up for. 

It's all starting to consume you: your eyes feel like they're floating, threatening to pop out any second. Chunks of flesh are dangling off the bone-- you ignore your father's kind inquiries about leaving your black gloves at home. A lung squelched out when you leaned forward to punch the fucking mirror; it took all of your resolve to push the piece of shit back in place. 

You mumble more than usual at the dinnertable, words are starting to escape you. Oftentimes, all you can hang onto is shit, damn, fucking shit. It feels just as good as it did when you were twelve and the bottlecap on your anger loosened for the first time. Now you are a volcano, a stinking, shambling volcano, and you can't explain why you're fucked up without fucking up your parents. 

Either they don't know that you're dead and running on borrowed time, or they don't want to. 

You're breaking, deteriorating: blood in the waves. Yet you refuse to be the hand that opens Hell's gate.


End file.
